


A Sore Foot

by Bluewolf458



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:00:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluewolf458/pseuds/Bluewolf458
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair hurts his foot</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sore Foot

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sentinel Thursday

"Damn!" Blair muttered. "Damn, damn, damn!"

He twisted around so that he was sitting on one of the steps he had tripped on as he was rushing up them, a couple of minutes late for the lecture he was giving. Of course, he hadn't been paying proper attention, concerned as he had been about the welfare of the people involved in an accident on the direct route to Rainier; Patrol had already been in attendance, so he had simply turned and taken an alternative, but longer, route.

He pushed himself upright and almost collapsed again as pain shot through his foot.

Gritting his teeth, he gathered up his backpack, limped into Hargrove Hall and made his way to the lecture hall.

Silence fell as he limped in. 

"Mr Sandburg? What happened to you?" someone asked.

He managed a wry grin. "I tripped coming up the steps. I think I might have broken a bone in my foot. But - " he made his unsteady way to the lectern - "that doesn't mean the lecture is cancelled... "

He didn't normally sit, preferring to pace around the room as he talked, but all he wanted to do was get the weight off his sore foot; so for once he perched on the seat behind the lectern.

This was not, he felt, one of his more successful lectures, although the students were attentive enough. But how much of that, he wondered, was sympathy?

But everything always ends at some time, and eventually he finished. "Any questions?"

Several hands went up. He chose one at random. "Yes, Bruce?"

"How are you going to get home? And shouldn't you get your foot checked out at the hospital first?"

There was a murmur of agreement, and Blair realized that it wouldn't have mattered which student he'd asked - the question would have been much the same.

"I'll call my room mate," he said. "But... I'd appreciate it if one of you would help me get to my office. Jim might be busy, and I'd be better waiting there."

Bruce stood immediately. "I will."

One of the other men joined Bruce. "We'll do it between us," he said.

Bruce nodded. "Thanks, Dwayne." They moved close to Blair, then gripped each other's wrists, their arms forming a sort of chair, in a move that was clearly familiar to them. Blair stood on his good foot, managing a half turn; they moved to behind him and he sat on their arms, an arm round each pair of shoulders. One of the other students took his pack while another hurried to open the door. The other students followed as Bruce and Dwayne carried Blair along the corridor and carefully down the stairs, stopping at his 'office' door.

Blair groped in his pocket for his key and handed it over. He didn't see who unlocked the door, but the key was returned to him and he slipped it back into his pocket. Bruce and Dwayne carried him in and put him down gently in front of his seat; all he had to do was sit. His pack was already sitting beside his desk.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Is there anything you want us to prepare for next week?" Bruce asked.

"Just do some general revision of the last three chapters," Blair said. "We'll have a discussion session - but participation will gain marks."

There was a murmur of acceptance, and people began to move away.

"Will you be all right on your own till your friend comes?" Bruce asked.

"Yes." Blair reached down, lifted his pack, and took his cell phone from the side pocket. He hit speed dial, and was answered almost immediately.

'Ellison.'

"Hey, Jim. Can you pick me up on your way home - I hurt my foot, and can't drive."

'Chief, what the hell did you do to yourself?'

"Tripped going up the steps."

'And I don't suppose anyone's checked it.'

"Well... no."

'I'll be there in twenty.'

"Thanks." Blair closed the phone and grinned at Bruce. "He'll be here in twenty minutes," he said.

"I still think I should stay with you."

"Bruce, I'm sure you have better things to do than babysit someone who tripped over his own damned feet."

"I'm remembering how you made your own way from the front door to the lecture hall. I'm - well, worried that you might do something silly, like walk around the room checking things. It's just twenty minutes." He perched on the edge of Blair's desk.

Blair looked at him and gave in. "So...any idea what you want to do when you graduate?" he asked.

Bruce shook his head a little ruefully. "I'm not sure," he said. "A lot of the others have some kind of idea, not all of them involving anthropology, but... I'll probably stick with either anthropology or archaeology, but I haven't decided which. But I don't really know what the job prospects are for either."

"There's always work for a jobbing archaeologist," Blair said. "One not based anywhere but joining established digs, working there for a couple of months, then when the digging season there ends, moving on to another. Some archaeologists spend time at the same digs every year for years. On the anthropology side, there are always expeditions to study tribes who are still living in the stone age; or there are police departments who want forensic anthropologists. Not all the bodies that are found are new; sometimes quite old skeletons are found, or only partial remains, and that's where the forensic anthropologist comes into his own, working in collaboration with the medical examiner. But if you wanted to go that way, you'd need to change the focus of your studies a little; I teach cultural anthropology, though I've studied some forensics. I don't say some cultural anthropology wouldn't be of use in a forensic situation, but some medical knowledge is of more use."

"I'll have to think about it," Bruce said. "I thought that anthropology was anthropology... "

"There's physical, cultural, historical - that's where archaeology comes in - forensic... heck, even linguistic. Anthropologists can work in government agencies, for private businesses, museums, in medicine. They can work in research, work as teachers - the scope is very wide. Here at Rainier you'll get a taste of a lot of aspects of the subject, but the sooner you decide which branch interests you most, the sooner you can concentrate on classes that deal primarily with that branch."

He was interrupted by the door opening, and looked up. "Jim. That was quick." He caught Bruce's are as the student began to move away. "Jim, this is Bruce Davenport. He's not the only one in the class who helped me, but he's been the most helpful. Bruce, Jim Ellison, my room mate."

"Thank you," Jim said quietly. "There was never anyone less concerned with his own welfare than Sandburg - I'm glad someone was here to keep an eye on him."

"Nice to meet you, sir," Bruce said, and quietly moved to the door. "I was glad to help. Mr Sandburg is a great teacher. I'm just sorry he hurt himself. And... he shouldn't be trying to walk." He slipped out.

Jim turned to Blair. "Okay, let's have a look at that foot." He knelt, eased Blair's shoe off and checked the foot. "I'd say you have at least one broken bone," he said, groped in his pocket for his cell phone, and called for an ambulance.

***

Later that evening, with his foot in a cast, Blair propped his crutches against the arm of the couch and leaned back, glad to be pain-free, while Jim prepared dinner. Jim had said nothing about carelessness on steps, for which Blair was grateful, though he knew Jim was thinking it.

But at least it was just one bone, and with the crutches he didn't have to stay at home... although he'd be dependent on Jim for transport for several weeks.

And with the extra time he'd be spending at Rainier waiting for Jim... perhaps he could think up some subtle new tests to check the acuity of Jim's senses.


End file.
